


kiss me on the mouth (and set me free)

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Developing Relationship, Emotional Sex, Friends With Benefits, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Spring Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7684159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their loss, Tooru spends the night at Hajime’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss me on the mouth (and set me free)

**Author's Note:**

> the title’s from the song ‘bite’ by troye sivan. i had the live version in mind when i wrote this (it’s got a more zippy bass to it and a longer instrumental) and u can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2uFu8xiWnY)
> 
> i wrote this as stress relief (thank u brit) so if u see any typos point 'em out

Hajime’s ears were ringing. He felt numb; it didn’t feel  _ real _ . His eyes burned, and he could briefly acknowledge the loud rattling of metal as Kentarou punched a locker. Hajime turned his head to watch him. He thrust his fist into the grey stained door, and simply  _ held  _ it there; wild eyes frozen as he stared at the dent. 

Hajime could barely breathe. Issei slid to the floor. Takahiro crouched beside him and dusted his fingertips against the sharp curve of his jaw;  _ it’s okay _ \-- he seemed to say--  _ I’m here; I’m right here _ .

Tooru was nowhere to be seen. A rattled breath left Hajime’s lungs. Perhaps it was better, that way, he’d thought, for Hajime was sure he’d start outright  _ bawling  _ if he’d seen Tooru. 

Instead, Hajime simply closed his eyes. The others began shuffling out; in silence. 

After all this time, Hajime reminisced; it wasn’t enough. Tooru was perfect. Hajime hadn’t been  _ enough _ ; hadn’t worked hard enough, hadn’t been fast enough, didn’t think as fast as he could have. Tooru was always the one who gave it all, and maybe-- just  _ maybe _ \-- Hajime didn’t do as much as he could. Tooru deserved better; a better ace-- a better team-- a better friend. Tooru deserved to win;  _ everything _ . Tooru deserved the world-- the entire universe-- and then some, but that was silly. Hajime couldn’t give him something he’d already owned. 

In the end, it was Tooru who spoke first. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” he’d said. His voice was frail, though Hajime could hear it. It was a little worn, and a little rough.

“What?” Hajime hushed. He stepped closer towards him. 

“I don’t want to be alone, tonight,” Tooru clarified, “I-- I don’t-- yeah. Can… can you… can I come over?”

Hajime swallowed thickly. Tooru looked so vulnerable, like this; there were dark circles under his eyes, and every single blue and purple vein was pronounced over his pale skin.

“Okay,” he replied, in a sigh of relief; this was familiar, “Okay.”

 

It was an unspoken agreement that they’d share the bed, that night. Hajime’s mother hadn’t even offered the guest room; she’d seen the match. 

In retrospect, Hajime was sort of surprised they’d managed to fit into Hajime’s single at all; Tooru was tall and lanky, and Hajime wasn’t short and small, either. 

Lying on his side, Tooru’s fingers-- bitten and worn-- hovered millimetres before Hajime’s chest. Tooru stared down at it; watched the steady rise and fall of Hajime’s ribcage. Shaking hands rested on Tooru’s waist. Tooru licked his lower lip. They were silent.

“Hajime…,” Tooru whispered.

“Yeah?” Hajime asked; quietly. He wasn’t sure  _ why  _ they were whispering; it wasn’t that late.

“Nothing,” Tooru said, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Hajime felt all the oxygen leave his lungs. 

“Oh,” he said dumbly.

Tooru’s brow furrowed, and he frowned, and then, the expected happened.

“Hajime,” Tooru repeated in a voice so frail and broken it  _ hurt _ . Hajime stiffened, and pulled Tooru closer towards him. His chest felt wet. Tooru was crying.

“I’m sorry,” Tooru croaks, “I’m sorry-- I’m sorry-- I’m  _ sorry _ \--”

“I’m sorry, too.” 

His voice sounded pathetic, and his eyes stung. Tooru sobbed. It was a little muffled by the fabric of Hajime’s shirt. Tooru clutched a little tighter as Hajime buried his face into the soft locks of Tooru’s hair.

“I wish-- I just-- I wish we had more time.”

Hajime didn’t know what Tooru meant with that.

“Yeah,” said Hajime, “I know; me too. You don’t…,” he stumbled, “You didn’t… you deserve to win, Tooru.” 

His voice cracked as he told him that, but he was sure Tooru couldn’t have heard him; he was trembling all over.

 

Tooru didn’t reply; eventually, he simply fell asleep--  _ passed out _ , more like-- from the sheer exhaustion. 

Hajime couldn’t sleep. In the shy glow of the street lights in the road before Hajime’s house, Tooru was ethereal. Hajime’s eyes burnt a little, and his eyelids were heavy, but he still couldn’t tear his gaze away from the body neatly shuffled beside him. Tooru lay on his side. His chest rose in a steady rhythm, and ever so often, he exhaled through his parted lips. 

His hand rested before his ribcage; slotted between Hajime’s own and Tooru’s. His fingers were pale, and curved ever so slightly; inched just a little towards Hajime’s. The bed of Tooru’s nails was red and raw-- it must have been stinging, even now-- since Tooru was always so nervous; nervous for no reason at all. He’d pick and bite at the nails until they were raw and bloody, and Hajime? Hajime’d be the one to carry white band-aids with him and tape them over Tooru’s thumb and forefinger and palms; where he’d scratch his skin until he calmed down. 

The thought made Hajime’s heart ache, and he couldn’t help himself. Tentatively, and as gentle as he could-- with a shy carefulness he didn’t know he possessed-- he reached out and rested his fingers over Tooru’s; cupping the thin and bony hand with his own. Hajime glanced down at the sight; at the difference in their skin tones-- Tooru’d always been so much paler than him-- and how Tooru’s fingers were longer, but Hajime’s palm was wider, and how-- 

“What are you doing?” asked Tooru. His voice was like sandpaper; worn from all the tears and sleep.

“Holding your hand,” Hajime said quietly; what else could he have said?

“Oh,” Tooru spoke. He stared at Hajime for a while; eyes glossed over and reflective. They always had taken everything in. 

He didn’t pull his fingers out of Hajime’s gentle hold; he let them stay there--  _ steady, steady  _ Hajime’d thought, as though Tooru were some wild animal about to break free. 

Tooru blinked at him, and then sighed out of his nose. 

“Hajime…,” he whispered, “I… you know that-- if you want to…  _ touch  _ me… that would be-- that’d be alright with me.”

It was though Tooru’d stepped on the brake of every single one of Hajime’s trains of thought.

“Huh?” he asked dumbly.

“You can touch me,” Tooru repeated, “If you’d like that;  _ I’d  _ like that.”

Hajime considered his options; Tooru could have been lying. He could have been merely teasing Hajime, but evenso, Hajime would have said  _ yes-- yes _ anyway; just to spite him. And it Tooru’d been telling the truth?  _ That would change everything _ , Hajime thought, but it was impossible. 

Tooru was an excellent liar, afterall.  

“Okay,” whispered Hajime, and then, he let his hand rest on Tooru’s cheek; so soft-- as though he’d thought Tooru were asleep. The skin was warm, and softer than he’d expected. Tooru watched him. Hajime had expected him to close his eyes-- to pretend it was someone else; that those were someone else’s fingers trailing his faint freckles-- but he  _ didn’t _ . Those glossy pupils remained fixated on Hajime, and Hajime couldn’t quite bring himself to look away, either. 

Hajime’s palm trailed down to cup his neck, then the juncture of his shoulder. His other hand remained on Tooru’s; it was grounding, somewhat. Tooru exhaled a shaking breath, and his eyelids closed just a little. Hajime watched the flutter of his eyelashes as his fingers skimmed down Tooru’s shoulder-- over the sleeve of his t-shirt-- and then down to his arm. 

The wiry muscles did not tremble; he was at ease. The sheer momentum of force that was Oikawa Tooru lay pliant and still beneath Hajime, and  _ oh _ ; he blossomed underneath Hajime’s fingertips like a flower. 

Hajime pressed the pads of his fingers into the curve of Tooru’s bicep, and then down to the inside of his elbow. He shivered, just a little, and then Hajime traced his veins. Tooru’s gaze remained fixated on Hajime, but Hajime’s own eyes followed the steady journey of his hand; down to Tooru’s wrist, and then up again-- up to Tooru’s shoulder once more, and then down to rest on his chest. 

His beating heart fluttered against Hajime’s palm. 

A million different thoughts buzzed in Hajime’s mind, but in that moment, they were still; all he could think about was Tooru-- Tooru--  _ Tooru-- _

Tooru was a lot of things. He was utterly  _ bright _ \-- greater than most people could fathom-- and like some sort of light, but he wasn’t like the sun. If anything, he was like the moon. He was radiant, and gathered light and stored it, and then after an eternity he’d pour it all out in a glance. He had the sort of beauty that wasn’t easy to find; there was beauty in why his skin was so ethereally pale-- he worked too much; indoors to practice, and indoors to study-- and why his skin was so perfect and soft-- he’d use makeup and products; he was vain, and proud; some sort of by-product of when he was teased a kid-- and all the other tiny things about Tooru that Hajime observed and absorbed. He’d engrain them in his memory; something to look back on, he’d tell himself, so that when he’d be old and grey he’d remember that he once knew someone truly beautiful. He’d remember all sorts of things; the way Tooru looked when he teased his nephew, or why he’d spend his free time-- what little he had-- to coach that elementary team, and how he’d always--  _ always _ \-- manage to take the train out to the country to see his last remaining grandparent  _ at least _ once a month, and how absolutely, painfully gorgeous he was, right here and now; spread underneath Hajime as Hajime moved to press his fingers into the grooves of his ribcage. 

The bones were jutted, but Tooru’s skin was soft and warm, even through Tooru’s t-shirt. It was then that Hajime reached underneath it; quickly, painlessly, and  _ God--  _

Hajime skimmed his fingertips up and down the expanse of exposed skin, and his eyes flickered up to Tooru’s own. Tooru licked his lower lip. His brows furrowed in something akin to uncertainty; or was it nervousness?

“What is it?” Hajime asked.

“I want to kiss you.”

Hajime couldn’t remember the last time Tooru’d been that honest. His voice was a mere rough croak, but it was so  _ honest _ . Hajime watched him-- like someone would watch a dangerous scorpion under a microscope or a great white shark in a tank-- and felt his heart stop.

“Okay,” he answered, in one weak breath, hands tightening their hold on Tooru’s waist and thumbs drawing nonsense patterns, “Okay, yeah--”

Tooru pressed his nails into Hajime’s shoulders-- forcing him to rest on top of Tooru; Tooru pressed against his pillow-- and tugged him down. He tangled his fingers into Hajime’s hair, and with one final glance of Hajime’s wide eyes onto Tooru’s dry and chapped lips, they were kissing; it was that easy. 

Tooru’d tilted his head, and  _ God--  _ it was everything Hajime’d thought it’d be. He could feel Tooru’s breath fan over his cheeks, and he tightened the hold on Tooru’s waist as Tooru began to move. He slid his lips over Hajime’s as though he were made for it. Tooru’s lips were soft and full and his mouth was warm; no, it was  _ hot, _ Hajime corrected as Tooru opened his mouth and licked at Hajime’s bottom lip until Hajime’d gasped. Tooru inched closer and tugged Hajime closer as he pressed his tongue against Hajime’s. Hajime groaned-- he didn’t mean to, but Tooru just felt far too unfairly perfect-- and furrowed his brow. He wanted to savour the moment; engrain it in his memory to that when he’d be old and lonely, he’d remember that he once held Tooru, like this, and that he made Tooru moan--  _ moan! _ \-- against his open mouth. 

As Tooru’s fingers tangled into Hajime’s hair and scratched at his scalp, Hajime tilted his head just a little and  _ Jesus,  _ he didn’t think this could feel any  _ hotter  _ but it  _ did _ ; they were closer. Tooru’s breath came out in fast little rasps against Hajime’s cheeks as Hajime licked at the roof of his mouth, and traced his teeth and tried to simply memorise every single crevice that was Oikawa Tooru. His hands did not stop wandering, either, as he pressed his palms up along Tooru’s abdomen and traced the shaking muscles there, pushed Tooru further into the mattress-- slotting their hips together and  _ oh _ \--  **_this_ ** _ was kissing-- _

Hajime’s nose brushed against Tooru’s as they pulled back; lips parted still. They shared the same oxygen, for a moment; a steady  _ inhale-exhale _ . In that moment, everything was perfect.  _ They  _ were perfect. It felt infinite. It was then that Hajime knew he didn’t want to kiss anyone else; he didn’t want to hold anyone else’s hand, or touch anyone else in the way he’d skimmed his fingers over Tooru’s soft skin, and he didn’t want Tooru to do that to anyone else either. 

“Fuck,” breathed Hajime, and then he was being pulled back once more. 

Tooru kissed like he’d done everything in life; with youthful aspirations and ambition, and false maturity. He captured Hajime’s lips once more-- leaning up perfectly-- before Hajime pushed him away once more to tear off his shirt in one hurried motion. As he snaked his hands underneath Tooru’s t-shirt, he kissed him again. Tooru groaned into it; the vibrations rattled through Hajime’s entire body. He pulled away, again, and let Tooru take of his own shirt before Tooru’s fingers found themselves in Hajime’s hair again. He traced Hajime’s jaw and looked at him with something akin to fascination; as if Hajime were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen. 

Tooru was gorgeous. His lips were shiny and red, and he panted. It was almost  _ too much _ ; Hajime ducked down to press his mouth against Tooru’s neck. Tooru tipped his head back and exhaled a breathless, “Yes,  _ yes _ \--” as Hajime licked and bit and sucked. Tooru seemed to melt beneath him. He was so pliant, and so willing, and everytime Hajime pulled away in an effort to say something--  _ anything _ \-- Tooru’d pull him right back down and kiss him again. 

It  _ should have  _ been embarrassing-- kissing your best friend, like that-- but it  _ wasn’t _ ; they were silent as Tooru dug his rough nails-- they were short but sharp-- into Hajime’s shoulder and rolled his hips up towards Hajime’s. Little could be hid by the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

Tooru was the ocean; calm, and then a storm. Hajime felt like a drowning man, but  _ fuck--  _ he loved it. 

Hajime groaned into the warm skin of Tooru’s bare shoulder, and his fingers fanned over Tooru’s stomach as he rolled his hips. Tooru inhaled sharply and  _ whined _ . Hajime did it again. Tooru moaned. 

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like they were running out of time; like this had all happened too fast, and yet too late. It was gorgeous, and Tooru had always based his decisions on emotions as unstable as water. Hajime was the reasonable one. Hajime was the one who grounded Tooru; the one who’d pull him down back to earth before he’d fly away.

Slowly, Hajime trailed his fingers lower-- over the grooves of Tooru’s quivering abdomen-- until he cupped Tooru’s tented groin. Tooru keened, and his hips snapped up towards Hajime’s touch in an unfairly graceful movement. Hajime’s fingers pressed a little harder, and it was far too easy; he simply watched Tooru-- saw what made him  _ really  _ moan so loud Hajime was sort of worried his parents would hear-- and touched him like he touched himself.

“Shit,” hushed Tooru in a hurried tone, “Get this-- get this off.”

Hajime nodded, and complied. He pried himself away from Tooru’s grip to tangle his fingers in Tooru’s waistband. Tooru lifted his hips, and Hajime-- slowly, as slowly as he could-- pulled down Tooru’s sweatpants and underwear. Tooru wrapped his arms around Hajime’s neck and forced Hajime to knock his forehead against Tooru’s. He looked him in the eyes as his fingers skimmed over Tooru’s thighs and knee, and their breaths mingled into one single gasp of hot air, and then--

Tooru was naked, and hard, and underneath Hajime. 

Hajime had to rest his forehead against Tooru’s shoulder to compose himself. He exhaled shakily as Tooru swallowed thickly, fingers grasping for some sort of-- any sort of-- hold on Hajime’s shoulders. 

In a shy movement Hajime  _ hoped  _ was subtle, Hajime pulled his own aching cock out of his boxers and stroked himself; he was painfully, embarrassingly hard. Tooru’s eyes fluttered shut and he snaked a hand down between their sweating bodies. His fingers tangled with Hajime’s, and then, he grasped Hajime cock and pulled on it; loosely, and slowly. Hajime’s eyes screwed shut and his eyebrows furrowed as he pushed forward towards Tooru’s seering touch, but it wasn’t  _ enough _ and it was-- at the same time-- far too much.

“Shit,” groaned Hajime, “Fuck--  _ Tooru _ \-- you should--”

Tooru dug his teeth into his lower lip, and breathed a laugh.

“Yeah,” he moaned, voice lilting as though it were a question. 

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

Hajime was long gone. Tooru was whining and keening and moaning right underneath him-- because of  _ him _ \-- and something about that made all of this a little more simple; Hajime must have been doing  _ something  _ right. Tooru had always been infinitely complex, and a failure to see him as such-- a boy of multitudes-- would be a gross underestimation of his capabilities, and Hajime prided himself in that he never saw Tooru as anything  _ but  _ perfectly complication, yet in that moment, Hajime had made one singular fatal flaw; his eyes were screwed shut, and so he did not witness the sheer look of admiration and something else mixed in Tooru’s eyes, and he didn’t apprehend what Tooru was about to say.

“Haj’,” he slurred, “Hajime-- Hajime, I want you inside me.”

Something about that felt so perfect, but it was more so nerve wracking and stomach churning; not because Hajime  _ didn’t  _ want to be inside of Tooru, but because he wanted it so bad it  _ hurt _ . Doing this with Tooru was the main attraction of every since wet- and day-dream he’d had since he was thirteen. 

“Okay,” Hajime hushed, heart pounding and breath coming out a little too fast, “I-- yeah, sure; whatever you want. Do you.. I mean… I…”

“I know you have lube in your bedside drawer.”

Hajime bit into his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut;  _ God _ , Tooru was too forward and brilliantly intelligent for his own good. Hajime reached out towards the nightstand, and pulled open the drawer. He scrambled to find that tainted bottle, and tossed it to Tooru, who grinned smugly; it was gorgeous, because it was so familiar. Tooru’s shoulders were hunched, and his brows were furrowed, but still; he looked entirely comfortable, as though they’d done this a thousand times. Maybe Tooru  _ had  _ done this sort of thing before; he was secretive, like that. 

Hajime settled a top of Tooru once more, and watched Tooru spread languidly on Hajime’s pillows; legs open and a slick hand between them, and  _ Jesus _ , what a sight it was. Tooru pressed two fingers into him-- which was impressive, surely enough-- and arched his back and groaned. It looked sort of painful-- Hajime imagined it was; all he could do was hold onto Tooru’s hips and kiss his neck all over again-- but Tooru looked like he was having the time of his life, really; he looked like he was made to do this. 

It was then that Hajime understood the importance of Tooru’s body. He appreciated the significance of Tooru’s body; of the million places where his body eased from one place to another, from the arc of his foot to his ankle to his calf, from calf to hip to his chest and neck, all the way up to his ski-slope nose to his sharp jaw, and then down to the arch of his back and the expanse of his spine to that incredibly soft and impossibly round ass. Hajime felt his throat grow dry at the sight of Tooru like this; open and spread underneath him. In the dim evening light, he almost looked like he was glowing; sweat forming a slick coat over every muscle and tendon as his fingers began to thrust. Finally, Hajime comprehend everything that had led up to this; the staring, the blushing, the tentative touches, the  _ what-ifs  _ and awkward truth-or-dare sessions. Tooru was everything. Tooru was--

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.” 

The words left Hajime’s mouth before he could stop them. Tooru moaned. The sound vibrated out of his chest-- Hajime could  _ feel  _ it-- and Hajime tried to commit it to memory; in the dark corners of his mind in a file neatly labeled  _ Jerk-Off Material _ .

“Fuck,” choked Tooru. He moved his fingers-- curled them, or something; it was hard to tell-- and then removed them.

“Bag; back pocket; wallet,” he spoke.

“What?” asked Hajime. He felt idiotic.

“Condom,” was all that Tooru heaved and  _ oh-- right _ . It was evident that Tooru’d done this sort of thing before. Hajime scrambled clumsily off the bed and searched through Tooru’s schoolbag, dug through his wallet until he found-- two condoms. There were  _ two _ . Hajime took both; not because he even fathomed he could do this  _ twice  _ with Tooru-- it seemed impossible enough he’d let him do this once-- but because he was absolutely terrified he’d rip the first one. Tooru’d probably kick him out of the bed and laugh, or he’d simply frown and get angry or something, or maybe he’d try to forget-- 

“C’mon,” Tooru breathed. He wrapped his arm around Hajime’s neck and pulled him close once more, and his other hand trailed down his chest to his abdomen. One of Tooru’s legs snaked around his hips, and pulled him close. Hajime got the message; he tore open the condom-- without ripping it,  _ thank fuck _ \-- and rolled it on him, hissing a little. 

Briefly, images of that sexual education biology class flashed in his head; images of various fruits and vegetables covered in condoms.  _ It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’d let them come in me _ , Tooru’d said.  _ That’s dumb _ , Hajime replied,  _ don’t tell girls what to do, you sicko _ . Tooru’d grinned maliciously.  _ I wasn’t talking about girls, Hajime, _ he’d replied, and  _ oh--  _ it’d all made sense. 

Now, though, Tooru had no qualms about condoms, and Hajime forgot about produce quickly enough; it was hard not to focus on Tooru when he was this  _ hot  _ and incessant underneath him. Hajime poured some lube over him--  _ there’s no such thing as too much lube!  _ Tooru’d complained, once, after an encounter with some captain from some team,  _ never, ever too much lube! _ \-- and aligned himself. Tooru exhaled a breath in the way he always did before matches; to relax him. 

“I’m gonna put it in,” murmured Hajime. He pressed a kiss to Tooru’s neck-- his shoulder-- anywhere, really. He wanted to savour that Tooru let him do this; even if it only happened once, and even if they’d never talk about it again-- it  _ did  _ happen, and it was  _ amazing _ . 

Tooru choked a rattled moan, and nodded; and then Hajime was pushing inside of Tooru. 

It was such a cliché. Tooru was searingly  _ hot  _ and  _ fuck--  _ he was sucking him in. Hajime went as slow as he could; it was hard to not lose his bearings. Halfway in, he paused, and Tooru panted and nodded once more. He didn’t  _ look  _ like he was in pain. As ridiculous as it sounded, Hajime was sort of glad Tooru’d done this sort of thing before; he knew what he was doing. Two virgins would have been a catastrophe, surely. 

Tooru’s fingers mapped out Hajime’s face; cupped his jaw. He looked at him with something that could have been wonder, which was strange. Tooru was the wondrous one; that impossible boy. Tooru always looked ahead; into the future. Hajime stood behind him all along. 

Now, Tooru seemed to be far more calm than Hajime was. Hajime licked his lower lip; he was trembling all over, and the hold he had on Tooru’s hips tightened as he rolled his hips. He wasn’t even inside all the way, yet-- he wanted to let Tooru adjust to him, first-- but  _ God _ , it felt amazing. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as Tooru’s breath hitched in a broken moan, “You feel-- feels  _ so good _ .”

“Yeah?” heaved Tooru. It was dumb, and repetitive. Hajime loved it more than anything else. He was so close to Tooru he could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke in that rough, gravelly voice of his; sinfully raspy. 

“I’m gonna,” panted Hajime in a quiet tone, “I’m gonna move, okay?”

“Yes--  _ yes _ ,” replied Tooru with a nod. His hand tangled in Hajime’s hair, and pulled him down to a kiss; it was lazy, and they were breathing into each other’s mouths more than anything. It was quite possibly the single hottest thing Hajime’s ever done. 

Hajime pushed further-- slowly-- until he was completely inside that hot heat of Tooru’s. Tooru exhaled a half-laugh, half-sigh into Hajime’s open mouth at the sensation; he felt full. His fingers traced down Hajime’s face as he studied it; every single ever so slight change in expression. Hajime watched him, too, and suddenly, a well of emotions boiled inside of Tooru; his eyes stung.

“Shit,” he croaked, “Move--”

“Am I--” panicked Hajime, “I can stop-- shit, sorry-- I’ll stop, hang on--”

“ _ Move. _ ” 

A stray tear escaped from the corner of Tooru’s eye.

“Move,” he repeated in a voice so fragile-- so gentle-- it  _ hurt _ , “Please; doesn’t hurt, just…”

There was nothing else to say. Tooru bit his lower lip and glanced at Hajime with a mixture of embarrassment and worry. And Hajime? Hajime felt like his heart had been shattered into a thousand pieces. He complied; he was weak. 

Hajime pulled out-- almost completely-- and then thrust back in; slowly, deeply. He tore a moan out of Tooru’s throat as Tooru dug his nails into Hajime’s back-- scratching it all over-- and sobbed. Tears fell down his cheeks. Hajime pressed his lips against them; kissing them away. 

“Fuck,” Tooru rasped, “Feels so-- so  _ good _ \--”

Hajime groaned. Tooru’s nails dragged down his shoulders-- leaving marks that would last for days-- and knocked his head back as Hajime’s lips followed a stray tear that travelled down Tooru’s neck. 

“You’re so pretty,” groaned Hajime, “Jesus  _ fuck _ \-- you’re so fucking gorgeous, Tooru.”

Tooru sobbed once more. His thighs were shaking; in a flurry, Hajime wrapped his hand around Tooru’s aching and leaking cock-- as he’d down before-- and squeezed it, just below the head. Tooru  _ shouted  _ and convulsed around him and  _ fuck _ ; it felt amazing. Hajime didn’t want this end to end, but at the same time, he  _ did _ ; he was so close--  _ so embarrassingly close _ \-- to coming.

As he stroked Tooru, Tooru fingertips pressed into Hajime’s back; impossibly hard as he choked on a breathless moan and met Hajime’s deep and remarkably steady thrust. He pushed himself deeper onto Hajime’s aching cock, and then, he came; just like that. Spurts of white leaked onto Hajime’s hand and Tooru’s abdomen as he clenched around Hajime and gasped; he was more quiet than Hajime had expected. Perhaps he held back, which was-- in Hajime’s opinion-- a tragedy; Tooru sounded so  _ good _ it was insane. 

Hajime’s thrusts became erratic, after that. All he could think about was Tooru-- Tooru--  _ Tooru _ ; Tooru’s touch, how he felt, how good he smelt and the noises he made. Mouthing three impossible words into the soft and salty skin of Tooru’s neck, Hajime jerked forward and came; eyes shut and tears forming. He shook all over, and his breath has as fast as after a match.

He simply lay atop of Tooru, for a moment or two; trying to regain some form of normality. Tooru exhaled shakily, and slowly removed the vice-like grip he’d had on Hajime’s shoulders and back. Hajime winced internally; Tooru had scratched him all over, but he didn’t even think to be bothered by it. It was a semi-permanent reminder that this was  _ real _ ; he hadn’t imagined it.

Tooru pushed at his shoulder.

“Shit,” Hajime hushed as he scrambled to pull out of Tooru-- resulting in a tiny sigh from Tooru-- and pry himself away from Tooru’s warm and far too comfortable body, “Sorry,” he stated. Tooru blinked, and then averted his eyes; he seemed sort of sad. Hajime tied the condom off, and handed Tooru some tissues to clean himself up. 

“It’s okay,” Tooru replied as he wiped himself down;  _ empty words _ . Hajime swallowed thickly, pulled on his boxers again-- for some form of decency-- and crawled back underneath the covers; it  _ was  _ his bed, after all. He could feel the tension. Whether Tooru stayed or not decided  _ everything _ . 

If he left the bed, he’d left Hajime behind. He’d pretend this hadn’t happened, Hajime understood, and that was fine. 

The thing about loving someone this much was that you’d let them leave if you’d think they’d be happier alone. 

But that  _ didn’t  _ happen; Tooru simply grabbed his boxers and Hajime’s t-shirt--  _ Hajime’s! _ \-- and pulled them on, and then crawled back into bed in the exact same position as before, as if none of this occurred. If it weren’t for the clothes that lay sprawled around his bedroom and his stained sheets and the smell of sweat and how  _ wrecked  _ Tooru looked-- love-bites all over his neck, his lips red and swollen, hair mussed-- Hajime would have been able to convince himself he’d imagined it all. 

Torou rolled over, and laid on his stomach. He watched Hajime with some sort of curious, childlike fascination; he titled his head. Hajime mirrored his action. Games like this were easier than breaking down Tooru’s facade and talking about what had happened; feelings weren’t easy. 

Tooru sat up a little, and leaned up towards him. He tilted his head, and watched Hajime. The sight made Hajime’s stomach turn, and he felt nervous. Tooru licked his lips, and opened his mouth, as though wanted to say something, but decided it against it. The only sound Hajime could hear was his own pounding heartbeat until--

“Hit me.”

“ _ What _ ?” Hajime asked. He squinted at Tooru, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words had come out of his voice; steady-- a command. 

“Hit me,” Tooru repeated, leaning forward until their faces were mere millimetres away, “Make me feel something,” he hushed, voice lilting like it was some terrific secret. The kind they’d told each other when they were kids;  _ I broke my mom’s favourite vase!  _ Tooru’d say, and Hajime would reply with one excuse or other, some  _ it’s fine-- I’ll get my brother to glue it back together-- you can blame it on me, if you want. _

“I’m not going to hit you.” was all that came out of Hajime’s dry throat.

“Hit me!” spoke Tooru, “Hit me-- I’m not scared of anything.”

His voice was raspy and rough. 

“I’m not going to hit you, Tooru,” Hajime repeated; what else could he have said?

Tooru glared at him. 

“Fucking-- you  _ pissbaby _ ,” he sneered, sitting up and tossing the blankets away in one theatrical, angry motion, “You-- I-- you  _ fucker _ :”

“Why the  _ fuck  _ do you want me to hit you?” Hajime asked, eyebrows furrowing as he watched Tooru pull on his sweatpants; his back turned towards Hajime and  _ God,  _ it was an unfairly pretty sight, seeing Tooru bend over and how his shoulder blades moved, the thin elegant curve of his spine-- 

“Jesus-- what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hajime shouldn’t have said that, he blatantly realised. Tooru froze. 

“I don’t know,” Tooru quipped, “And you sure as  _ hell  _ don’t either. You don’t know me at all,” he spat, pulling on his trousers in one fluid motion, “You never will.”

“What?” Hajime asked once more, “What does that have to--” 

Tooru turned around, and glared at him. His nose was a little scrunched up; he always did that when he was furious.

“What do you really know about me, Hajime?” Tooru said. 

Hajime swallowed thickly. He’d thought he knew everything; he thought he’d finally understood Tooru, and he thought he’d know everything he ever was and everything he ever could be. 

Tooru stepped towards the door quickly-- he was fleeing this confrontation-- but Hajime was faster. He stood--  _ fell  _ out of his bed, more like-- and grabbed Tooru’s wrist; probably with far too much force. Tooru looked at him with wide eyes, and a frown, as though he were entirely outraged that Hajime didn’t want him to leave. 

“I’m not going to hit you, Tooru,” he whispered. His voice was far softer than he wanted it to be. “Please…,” he tried, “Please just-- tell me… why-- why do you want me to?”

He was sort of worried he’d start bawling. All of the tension in Tooru’s shoulders disappeared, and he caved in; he became far shorter than Hajime remembered.  

“I don’t know,” Tooru said earnestly, “How fucked up is that, right?” He exhaled a tired soft of laugh, and stared down at the linoleum floor of Hajime’s bedroom. 

Hajime didn’t know what to reply. 

“I want-- I wish-- well, I don’t know what I want,” croaked Tooru, “All I-- I want… you.”

“Oh,” Hajime spoke. Tooru’s lips stretched into some sort of lopsided half-smile, and suddenly, it all made sense. 

Blowing bubbles; that’s what they were doing. They blew such beautiful ones today, and tonight, and then they’d explode and they’d blow some more; big ones, small ones. They’d keep blowing bubbles until all the soap and water would be used up. 

“Sorry,” hushed Tooru, “That’s probably not what--”

“It’s--” began Hajime, “It’s all… it’s fine.”

Tooru snorted a laugh. His chest vibrated, and his pulse fluttered; Hajime could feel it trembling against his fingers, still wrapped around the jutted bone of Tooru’s wrist. 

“It’s  _ not  _ fine.”

Hajime bit at the inside of his mouth. 

“Do you regret it?” he asked. 

Tooru froze.

“I--”

“Do you regret it, Tooru?” Hajime repeated; voice stern and serious. He was tired. It sounded like an exhausted sigh. 

“I-- I don’t…”

“If you regret it, we don’t-- we can pretend this didn’t happen.” _ as hard as that may be.  _

“Do  _ you  _ regret it?” Tooru asked.

“No,” Hajime replied; perhaps a little too quickly.

“Oh,” Tooru said. 

“Listen,” Hajime asked in a hurried tone, “Do you want to or--”

“I’m-- it’s-- I’m not-- you deserve-- you deserve  _ better _ , Hajime.”

Tooru looked a little unstable; like a Jenga tower leaning just a bit too much to one side. Hajime’s throat was dry, and his hands were shaking, and he  _ wanted  _ to let Tooru leave, but he  _ couldn’t _ ; not when he looked like vulnerable. Hajime could see how red his eyes were. They should have walked their separate ways, but before the sensible part of his brain could take control again, the words were out in the open, torn out of Hajime’s rasped throat.

“All you are… that’s all I want; not just your ass or your face. I want… I like… everything.”

Tooru stared at him for a moment. His mouth parted into a perfect circle as he exhaled a soft  _ oh _ .

“You… you  _ idiot _ ,” he wheezed, “You-- I-- you’re the dumbest person I know.”

Hajime parted his lips to retort-- say something snarky and then pretend none of this ever happened-- but Tooru was quicker; he stepped forward, and cupped Hajime’s face with long fingers and warm-- seering, even-- palms and kissed him.

It felt different. There was no crescendo in dramatic orchestra music, and there weren’t any fireworks; simply Tooru’s chapped and warm lips on his, pressing harshly.  _ Band-aid it _ , Hajime used to tell him when he was uncomfortable and nervous.  _ Rip it off; do it quick and close your eyes _ , he’d say, and  _ oh--  _ everything made sense. 

Tooru pulled away. Hajime exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Tooru bit his lower lip, and furrowed his brow. 

“You motherfucker,” Hajime breathed, “I hate you.”

And then he pulled Tooru closer-- that miracle boy; that dichotomy of a person-- and kissed him;  _ really  _ kissed him the way Tooru’d always deserved to be kissed. They weren’t half-naked, and they weren’t hard or anything like that. It was simple. It was human. Tooru inhaled sharply, and Hajime tangled a hand in his soft hair as he opened his mouth. For a moment, they simply breathed together, pressed closer against each other than ever before; as though they were afraid the other would disappear into thin air if they didn’t hang onto them with such desperation. 

Hajime thanked his past self for striking up conversation with that strange neighbour of his all those years ago because it all lead to his. 

“Oh,” spoke Tooru.

“Yeah.”

“You…”

“Yeah,” repeated Hajime in a whisper, “Always, probably.”

He pressed his lips against the corner of Tooru’s mouth; it’d been mere seconds, and he already missed the feeling of Tooru’s lips against his. 

“That’s… good, yes,” exhaled Tooru. A shy smile spread over his lips. Hajime kissed him once more.

“ _ Just _ good?”

Tooru giggled.

“Wonderful,” he sighed, fingers tracing invisible patterns over Hajime’s cheeks, “Fantastic, incredible… do I  _ look  _ like a thesaurus?”

“Nah.” Hajime grinned, “You look…,”  _ happy? beautiful? human?  _ “...pretty. You’re really beautiful.”

Tooru snorted a laugh. His teeth shined brilliantly in the dim light, and Hajime found himself falling just a little bit more in love with him. 

“Never thought you’d say that,” Tooru mumbled, “To me, I mean.”

Hajime bit at the inside of his mouth; it was strange. He’d told him that before, in the heat of when they’d been kissing and pushing against one another-- mere minutes ago. He frowned, at the thought; the thought of Tooru being disappointed in him; Tooru’d probably thought he was lying.

“I’ll say it to you as often as you’ll let me,” promised Hajime.

“Forever, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> wink wonk


End file.
